


Criss-Cross My Heart and Hope To Die (The Lattice-Top Rebake)

by lost_spook



Category: Angel: the Series, Pushing Daisies
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor, Pie, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4225371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel has a seriously weird experience in a pie shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Criss-Cross My Heart and Hope To Die (The Lattice-Top Rebake)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redrikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Easy as Pie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952123) by [Redrikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki). 
  * In response to a prompt by [Redrikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki) in the [remixmadness2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixmadness2015) collection. 



> My apologies for several things, especially the ending (but as soon as I started typing it from the AtS side, it was inevitable what the punchline had to be and I couldn’t quite look it in the face and tell it, “You’re evitable!”); also because it's been a while since I've written or watched either fandom, and I know nothing about the Buffy or Angel comics. But, like Angel with the pie, I couldn't resist. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> With many thanks to Justice Turtle for the emergency check-over - any remaining errors are entirely my fault.

Angel wasn’t sure where he was exactly, but he wasn’t about to phone anyone for better directions, mostly because of the inevitable lack of respect for their elders (if not betters) that would follow any such question. In his experience, you just couldn’t get the staff. Or friends. Or even mortal enemies for that matter. He couldn’t consult the sat-nav talking-machine-thing, because they’d had a disagreement several hours ago, and he’d killed it. (It had been him or it. He had no regrets.)

He wasn’t sure what to make of wherever it was that he’d wound up. It wasn’t LA, he could say that much. It wasn’t Sunnydale, either. It was strangely cosy and unreal at the edges in a way that had him wondering about demons while some buried part of him (the part that enjoyed Barry Manilow and tended to invite said disrespect from his friends and colleagues) thought that it seemed kinda nice. It felt sunny even though it wasn’t right now, which was putting him on edge, but at the same time he appreciated any sort of faux-sunshine that didn’t kill him.

Still, there was a whole end of the world thing going on and he really ought to get to the site of the prophesied doom instead of hanging around in an unnamed candy-town. Unless the prophecy was another false alarm, of course. It probably _was_ a false alarm, he told himself. You couldn’t even get a decent apocalypse these days, let alone a half-reliable prophecy. 

He stopped and went into an equally cute establishment called The Pie Hole, and, after accidentally bumping into the proprietor in passing, cornered a midget-sized, overly-enthusiastic waitress. Her name badge announced her identity as Olive and she seemed possibly as unreal as the whole town. Could anyone seriously be that perky?

After her attempt at giving him directions had reached the twenty-minute mark, he was feeling pretty sure she must be an Adraic demon, one of the Grul clan who liked to disguise themselves as members of other species just to confuse people.

“So, after that you turn left by the windmill – oh, and if you find yourself plummeting into the ocean, you must have gone left instead of right, and probably took the wrong turning at the top of the road anyway. You don’t want that.”

Angel tried to disentangle the instructions. “So… if I drive along that way, turn right, turn left and avoid every local landmark you’ve mentioned, I might make it back to the freeway in one piece?”

“Uh huh!” said Olive and gave him a bright smile. “Unless – no – am I facing the right way? I’m not, am I? Let’s do it all again in reverse.”

It was at that point that Angel stopped paying attention. This had nothing to do with Olive and everything to do with the fact that he had finally realised that he was breathing. His heart was beating. He was surprised the muscle hadn’t atrophied since the last time that had happened. He hadn’t heard it, hadn’t heard the blood rushing around his veins, because he no longer had super-sharp senses of smell and hearing and a heightened awareness of anything to do with the b-word. Or, for that matter – as he stumbled into the edge of a loaded tray and knocked dishes and pie crusts flying – perfect co-ordination.

Obviously that didn’t negate the importance of the impending apocalypse, but the shock necessitated some sort of response. Angel stopped asking about the way out and asked Olive instead for the day’s special.

“Peach pie!” she said, pushing it in front of him, and then sat opposite him to watch him eat, which Angel was fairly sure waitresses weren’t supposed to do, but he was too busy engaging some of his other underused human functions to worry about it – like exploring the effects of the flavour and texture of peach and sugar and pastry on the taste buds of someone who’d been drinking pig’s blood for years. 

He wiped his mouth after finishing the large slice. “Oh, my God,” he said, feeling as if he might be having another epiphany, only by less painful means than the last one. He was probably allowed to use that particular phrase in the circumstances. Well, maybe.

“Wow,” said Olive, with a bright smile. “You really like it, huh? Want some more?”

Angel thought about directions, the upcoming probably-not-an-apocalypse-more-like-a-damp-squib-thing, and all his questions about where this place was, and whether or not this was some kind of trick, and then he thought about the pie he could smell in here, and said, “Yeah. Thanks.” 

“It’s good,” he added, since those same friends and colleagues had often mentioned he could also try being more polite. And the pie was definitely worth a little courtesy.

“More of the same, or something else?” said Olive, her smile wider still; she seemed to openly delight in his enjoyment of the Pie Hole’s wares. She had her pencil and paper at the ready.

Angel eyed the counter with his best soulful stare. “Uh. You got anything with chocolate?” 

“One chocolate coconut pie slice coming right up!” said Olive. “It’s to die for, cross my heart!”

It was something to live for, not die for, Angel thought fervently, midway through a forkful of the stuff and beginning to wonder if he’d finally stumbled onto one of the heavenly dimensions that were rumoured to be out there.

His reverie, however, was broken by a man marching in through the doors. “Hey,” he said. “You know there’s a dead dame out there on the sidewalk, right? You got anything to say about that?” For some reason, he seemed to be glaring at the proprietor.

The proprietor, understandably, panicked and ran out to the door to look. 

“Natural causes,” added the newcomer in tones that couldn’t have been more ominous if he’d just announced a gruesome murder by an escaped serial killer.

The proprietor – the Piemaker – turned. Then he said, in an undertone, “I haven’t touched a thing – well, I bumped into that guy, but he was already walking around, so it must just _be_ natural causes. It happens, you know. Frequently. To all sorts of people. Tragically, I mean. Obviously.”

“Well, okay,” said the newcomer. “In any case, looks like the deceased was a lawyer, so I don’t suppose anyone’ll waste too many tears over her.”

Angel nearly choked on his chocolate coconut pie, and then had to deal with Olive slapping him on the back. She was surprisingly strong, or maybe that was only because he was a mere weak mortal again. Still, he decided, any place that shanshued him, provided him with pie, _and_ randomly killed off employees of Wolfram and Hart was more than okay by him.

However, he thought with regret, he couldn’t sit here forever and leave the others to deal with whatever awful doom was almost upon them, even for pie like this, so he got to his feet, accidentally colliding again with the Piemaker, who was on his way back from the door.

“Whoops,” said the Piemaker, looking considerably more alarmed than he should by the casual contact.

Angel carried onto the exit, before it dawned on him that the last bite of pie suddenly tasted like ashes and dust in his unresponsive mouth, his heart was still again, and he was no longer breathing. Even worse, he realised, he still hadn’t gotten coherent directions back to the freeway.

On the plus side, you never knew, it might actually _be_ the end of the world this time – or at least, someone might have unleashed another dragon for him to slay. He felt like killing something right now.

“Hey,” said Olive, hurrying after him, bearing a box. “Want a slice to go? On the house – just for you. Enjoy!”

It had _better_ be the end of the world, Angel decided, or he was having words with someone in the demon dimensions about it.


End file.
